


Through the Ghost

by Harbinger



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied Character Death, Major character death - Freeform, SO SAD, oh god why did i write this, this is tumblr's fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:04:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harbinger/pseuds/Harbinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maria Hill and Loki Laufeyson had been together for years, hiding it from all but a few people. When old age finally takes her, Loki flees into the cosmos to deal with his grief. Upon returning to their home in New York, he falls to his despair once again, only to be finally saved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely inspired by my role play with the amazing agent-maria-hill of tumblr. The ship name Frost Grenade was coined by thewolffenrir, also of tumblr. I wanted angst and then Shinedown's Through the Ghost happened and well. Yeah. Only beta'd by me, there'll be mistakes. You can find me at tricksteringreen on tumblr if you have a request or a question! Feel free to come say hello.

Once she had retired from SHIELD, another fifteen years after they'd met and come together, Maria had bought a large, surprisingly grand house out in the countryside of New York. It had been far enough out that few people bothered them and even fewer than that knew precisely where it was. Only some of her closest friends ever came over (Coulson included, Loki well remembered the day that the man had walked in while the god was playing with their dog. It had been interesting to say the least) and almost none of them had known of her tumultuous relationship with the god of chaos.

But that had been almost a century ago. Loki was alone. Maria's death had brought a fallout that even he had never considered; his manner of mourning had been to retreat far within himself, concealing himself in spells to hide while officials came to take her body away to prepare it for burial. Loki had followed them, remained at her side until the burial had taken place and even after that, he'd stayed in the cemetery for weeks following. Rumors had whispered of a dark figure standing over her grave, joined at times by a massive canine. Then he had left; left Midgard, left the Nine, left everything he'd known behind.

What precisely had drawn the dark god to return to the manor that she had died in, he did not know. Loki had long since stopped wearing his hues of green and gold; now blue and silver cloaked his form. Her death had stripped the Trickster of all desires for revenge and death and even his clothing showed it. A cowl of deep, rich blue hung over his black-haired head, veiling all but the faint glint of dull-washed oculars. He wore more robe than armor now, having forsaken the metal in one last show to the woman that she had helped. She had changed him.

Their home was coated in a thick layer of dust and had fallen into disrepair. What had at one point been a stunning marvel of architecture had become a crumbling structure marked with signs to show that it was unsafe. Long fingers of the left hand - the right was hidden by glove to conceal a terrible injury from about a decade back that had left his hand scarred and had rendered three fingers useless - trailed slowly over the grand mahogany table that the woman had absolutely insisted upon having it when she'd found it in a little antique market place. The digits came back with their pads covered in tiny particulates of dust and Loki pensively rubbed them together, cowled skull tilted.

A simple spell, still within his capabilities even with his injured right hand, could have sufficed to wipe away the dust and filth from the manor but he left it. The god saw it as a poignant and painful reminder of what he had lost upon Maria's death. Booted feet carried his lean, thin chassis deeper into the bowels of the house, all but feeling his feet slip into the minute tracings of where feet had been before. A painful twinge caught and stuck agonizingly in his heart, and as he came to the den, Loki had to pause to draw in a few deep, balancing breaths. She should be here. He should have stolen her an apple, not let her waste away as the dregs of old age and a harsh life caught up with her.

"I can't see you anymore," he breathed softly, his voice breaking the silence that the manor had lain in for near of a century. It took everything the god had (not much anymore) to continue slowly moving forward. Each room was visited; from the kitchen to the bathrooms, he left no room untouched. Soot and dust coated his boots and collected at the hem of his trousers and of the long, sapphire cape that he wore. His lungs ached slightly at the strain of inhaling air that no living being other than an animal perhaps had breathed in decades; the stagnant air turned his stomach.

Loki was lost. He'd been lost ever since that terrible night where he'd knelt on the floor at her bedside, clutching her hand and begging her over and over and over not to leave him alone. Yet his pleading had gone on deaf ears; he would cherish that last, tiny smile that she had given to him forever. When her hand had gone limp in his hand, the life fleeing it for what came after, Loki had thrown his head back and wailed his sorrow without care for who or what had seen. He had remained at her side when Fenrir had come to see them and found him still kneeling, weeping over her. It had been his son that had called the authorities to let them know she had passed, and it had been Fenrir who had gently coaxed his sire away so as not to risk his capture. He'd still been hunted even then for the attempted murder of all the Avengers and the success of many, many agents.

All of that was gone now. The dark god did not know if SHIELD even still stood nor who was at her helm. He also did not care. The Avengers and SHIELD and even Asgard and the Allfather were the furthest things from his mind now; all that mattered was this little haven of dust where he and his lover had hid themselves away from the world. Where they'd slept together and had loved together and where he'd woken every morning to see those beautiful sapphires smiling at him. 

The god choked on a sob as he came to their bedroom, seeing that nothing had been disturbed. Fenrir's doing, there was no one else who would have done so and he made note to thank his child when next they saw one another. Loki hesitated on the threshold of the master bedroom, almost unwilling to enter and to disturb the precious silence within the room. The air felt thick and cloying, heavy in his nostrils and weighing down on his shoulders until he shuddered painfully. It felt like a lash on his soul to stand here where he had loved and lost. It was the pain of being immortal; everything that mattered in the end left sooner or later. 

The crossing of the threshold had his breath catching so painfully in his throat that his heart spasmed and a hand flew to his chest, clutching at the silken and leather fabric there. Several rapid inspirations were dragged in and out of his open mouth, the air shuddering as his magic reacted to the profound sense of agonizing loss that he felt upon being in this room again. This was where she had lived and died; he could feel the lingering presence of the final whisper of her soul that had arisen from her earthly shell, called into the waiting arms of the lady of Hel. Or perhaps instead a Valkyrie had come instead; perhaps Maria Hill feasted in the hallowed, gilt halls of Valhalla each night with the other warriors. Loki did not know; death was capricious at best and Maria could have easily gone to either.

On strides so slow they seemed almost arthritic, he approached the bed, mind's eye calling to the surface that night. A tear slid down his gaunt cheek; the bones of his face seemed thin and stuck out in painful, stark relief under his pallid flesh, evidence of mourning and of a sharp decrease in appetite. His eyes were circled by dark purple bags; Maria had broken him of the habit of not sleeping for days on end but her death had brought that back to him once again. The tear dropped down to the floor, disturbing the carpeting of dust that covered the hardwood floor and soon, more followed it. 

As he came to the side of the bed where he had knelt to hold her hand, a sob wrenched out of his throat. Loki, proud Loki, strong Loki, fell to his knees in the same place, head bowing, shoulders hunching in until his forehead pressed to the dusty down-filled comforter and silken sheets that she had insisted on. The digits of his hands rose to curl into the fabric, gloved fingers twitching in desire to feel it with skin rather than with the gloves. His grasp tightened, bringing the materials closer to his countenance and he inhaled desperately, seeking any tiny sign that her scent still lingered and when he found nothing, the dark god fell apart, lapsing into broken sobs that heaved through his powerful frame.

Time passed, his sobbing subsided and the god calmed down as sleep overcame him. Loki was exhausted; he could not remember the last time he had eaten or slept and so, when his frame stilled, his mind stilled as well and sleep took him finally into her loving arms. His dreams were dark and worrisome, making him shift slightly in his sleep. He'd never slept well to begin with and these dreams ripped and tore at his already fragile and breaking psyche. Tears still continued to drip down to collect in a puddle around his face though finally, some hours after he had begun crying, they ceased. At some point, the Trickster god fell completely still, no longer dreaming.

"Oh, my Loki," a soft voice whispered and a pale, nearly translucent hand stroked softly over the dark tresses that had been revealed when his cowl had fallen back. Maria's expression was warm and affectionate, her hand continuing the stroke his face until the dark oculars opened and fixed upon her visage.

Loki smiled. "My love," he breathed, leaning up into the touch in a way that should not have been possible. He had never forgotten her face but it was wonderful to be able to look directly into it and see all the tiny perfections and imperfections that he had fallen so deeply in love with that it had driven him to abandon all plans of vengeance. She was so beautiful it hurt.

She smiled as well, stepping back and holding out a hand to him. "Come, my  _aroon_. It is time." 

He knew. He had known the moment he had come here that he would never again roam the Nine. Never again would Loki, god of chaos, of mischief, sometimes of evil but often of trickery, see his old home of Asgard. Never again would he be a threat to the city of New York. The realms would not need to hold their breath in fear of a sudden unleashing of Ragnarok. The whole of the worlds could sleep in peace now, knowing that the Harbinger was gone.

Loki's expression softened and he nodded solemnly  His gloved hand lifted and settled gently in the proffered one and he let her pull him gently to his feet. His spirit rose but the shell remained where it had fallen, where likely it would remain undisturbed for years - a skeleton before anyone found it. 

"Lead on, my dear. Where you go, I follow." 


End file.
